PULSE
by Wrenne
Summary: He was born in what they call a prison camp, but he never realize what this place means until he saw his father being tortured and his mother being raped. Since then, he never considered himself as a child.
1. Prison Camp

*A/N This story is a tie-in to Trahnael's _"Cruel Twist of Fate"_ about RoChu; well, this tie-in focuses on Mongolia. It all started when I thought of some third-wheel character for her story (that I really favor because of the way Ivan killed that guy in the introduction), and then, yeah, Mongolia is in between Russia and China geographically and so I thought, why not build this infamous character for once? And I've searched his human name but he doesn't have any official name yet and being a stubborn writer as I am, I will call him Mongolia (want to know why?). If you'll read the story you'll understand. This story is completely independent and you can read it without reading Trahnael's story and vice versa although we'll appreciate it if you do. And I apologize for the time jumps.

So, I'm not promising any romantic affair in this fan fiction and I'm not sure if I'll continue this, well I'm caught up between projects and so I'm thinking things over. Well, I already love Mongolia and his background and so, here's the story. Enjoy.

* * *

**PULSE**

_**First Interlace: PRISON CAMP**_

He woke up sweating and running after his breath. He dreamed of the same dream he had for the past seventeen years of his existence. But he's thankful that he can't forget his life in that prison camp, for burying it means turning his back to the family he had once.

"_Mongolia, justice is everywhere, even here."_

"_Yes, father."_

"_And God is always watching over us, but you should still protect your mother."_

"_Of course, I'll do that!"_

The trees that surrounded the prison camp, the isolated and solitary refugee for criminals as they call them from the outside; blinded him as a child. He was raised in here. His father was a murderer, a notorious one, who had killed one too many. And his mother was a fine lady before she was raped, and stood up against a young noble who has a strong hold on the government. But his parents only showed him love and care.

Not everyone in this prison camp deserves to be here – specially a child that was born innocent, but can do nothing but watch as the Accounts torture and kill everyone around him. He was never given a name, at least not one he could remember. He could just remember his father calling him Mongolia, telling him not to forget the place he was born in, to never forget he's a Mongol.

And that night came, when his father was dragged out of their little barracks, accused of something he couldn't possibly do – to plan for an escape. He knows it because his father never told him what the meaning of escape is, until his father was tortured the night before his birthday.

"_He promised to give me a present…"_

The cries of his hopeless father, tied on the asymmetric piece of wood while the rain is pouring hard, echoed and tore through the silence of the night. Mongolia watch as his skin sagged with each drop; his father's open wounds and bruises not getting any better. He's not even sure if his father was crying or it is just the rain around him; nonetheless, he's sure that his father was bathing in his own blood.

He also watch as his mother cried softly, never letting herself to turn and watch her half being punished by Accounts. He remembered his old self curling up in a corner, tears streaming down his cheeks as he watch his father smiled from across the center of the prison camp, he looks tired, and old, one thing that Mongolia never imagined his father would look like. And then he watched him as he draw in his last breath, his chest falling heavily.

But his death doesn't equate to a respectable burial. No one in this prison camp ever knew of such a thing. The dawn breaks in as the Accounts kicked the carcass out of the barricades to their quarters, and eventually, after some minutes, Mongolia heard the famous three shots. Those shots that he had heard from some of the prisoners talking about, "Three shots again, just like the other day…" "One for the head, the neck and the heart…" "To assure death and not breaking out…" those murmurs never stopped hunting him. What does those mean? Killing someone who's already dead?

His mother didn't sleep a wink; she always looked scared, always looking round and round their barrack. Mongolia never got the chance to talk to her again. Few days had passed, and he didn't even care when his birthday is, or what is it about. Until the other prisoners told them that someone is coming.

A young noble, the priceless prince of a foreign emperor is going to visit them. Mongolia doesn't know why but this sparks hope to almost all of the prisoners. "How did he ever know we exist?" "Does this mean he'll free us?" "All hail the Emperor!"

But this raucous only made her mother even more frightened. But that night, the night before the priceless noble was to visit, his mother tucked him to bed, hum him a lullaby, and kissed him. Then, Mongolia felt that he existed again, that he was loved.

And the sun rose and was swallowed by the night sky the next day. The prince arrived although he never got to see him, Mongolia was still so happy about the love his mother is giving him. And he was tucked into bed once again, but when he woke up in the middle of the night, he heard his mother talking to the Accounts, her face affrighted and she's trembling. Mongolia slipped into his father's old shirt, and by the time he was finished, he heard his mother pleading.

"Please, no, I have my child."

"And your child is a dead man's child."

And he heard her faint cries as she was dragged not to the quarters but outside the barricade. Mongolia followed them through instinct, and being the clever child as he was, he managed to follow them without being noticed. And they came upon a place deep in the forest.

And he never expected the next things that happen to change everything that his father thought him.

_There's no justice._

_There's no God._

Not after a seven year old child had witnessed this. Not after he just stood there, frozen, unable to do anything because he was weak, watch her mother being raped and hit. Mongolia's hands found his mouth and covered it. He pressed tighter as he felt himself wanting to scream. He never thought that Accounts do this. They should be the one guarding and protecting the prisoners, not the one who tortures and kills them.

And that scene felt like a lifetime. Mongolia hid himself behind a tree trunk and let his ears track the conversations.

"Young Prince, what should we do?"

"Kill her. She's useless now." Silence. "One through the head, one through the spine, one through heart."

And three gunshots were fired.

Mongolia's feet nailed him on the ground, his tears not stopping.

"What are we going to do with the body?"

"Leave it there. Leave it as a gift for the wild animals lurking around."

Mongolia gained all his courage and glanced at the Accounts, the two were the same guards who tortured his father, and the other, one he doesn't know, was the one face he imprinted in his memory.

But he never had the guts to look at his dead mother. And so he slowly and carefully turned his heels, and ran through the barricade. And then, he was back in their barrack. Looking around at the small cramped space that was once filled with contentment and joy, Mongolia couldn't help but cry silently.

To think of it, he could just wander outside the prison camp that night his mother was killed. But no, he did not. It's simply for the reason that he wanted to know more of those who had snatched his parents from him, those Accounts who also took his innocence away. Since that night, Mongolia never thought of himself as a child. He was someone who doesn't trust anyone. He was someone who had continued to live for the sake of his parents. He was someone who lives for vengeance.

"Mongolia."

"Hassan. Where are the others?"

The Turk sighed. "They were found out. But even if they are being tortured in the quarters, they still refuse to talk. They believe they can make a change."

"And do you?"

The Turk's lips tugged. "Of course."

The plan his father made fifteen years ago, Mongolia decided to use it and break through this hell. For sure his father won't like this, but he'll be proud of him. He had come to this, and he will never stop. Not after the twelve years he had spent in agony and fake relations with the Accounts, now he had build his own army, and he will not put his men's travail for nothing.

"Tonight," The Mongol said. "The prison camp will be filled with wrath."

He had lost interest if these prisoners are the ill-famed and crazy; he managed to live with them in what he had known as peace. For sure the people outside could also go along side them. They have no choice anyway. And why would he care for people that he never met? To care for people who exiled beings here to be treated inhumanely?

Mongolia massaged his temple as he heaved a deep breath, refusing to remember the things he had kept since seven now; and then his amethyst eyes cut through the firm man standing behind him. His hand reached for his back pocket, and passed Hassan a sharp knife.

"Where did you get this?" the shocked expression painted on the tan man's face didn't startle Mongolia.

"Just killed an Account awhile ago. Don't worry, I fed the dogs well."

He had managed to kill the two Accounts who killed his parents a long time ago, around the age of ten, using his wits that he gathered from them – the Accounts themselves. It was such a perfect timing when they tried to get closer to him and lured him deep in the forest, never expecting their own deaths. Now, there's only one man left, and he could not lay his fingers on him because he's outside.

"_One through the head, one through the spine, one through heart."_

And Mongolia promised himself to reward him with the most brutal way he could repay him.

Night came. Mongolia and his army positioned their way as they had planned. The stations of the Accounts never changed over the years partly because no one had ever tried to escape or go against them, and that stupid ignorance will deal them to their final destinations. There are no rules or exemptions; their only aim is to kill all Accounts and traitors. It's true that they don't have guns and they refuse too at any rate; it will just alarm the others. Mongolia taught his army how to make sharp stones or wild bamboos and poisons a long time ago, gaining the knowledge from his father's book that he had hid so deliberately to keep the fragile pages, using Hassan as someone who can read. And Mongolia ordered them to give in for the kill. Immediate and sure kill. One through the head, one through the neck, and one through the heart.

Mongolia waited in the quarters as the war outside already broke out. He drudged for any file twelve years ago and decided to ignore the punching smell of smoke, alcohol and drugs as he open each cabinet. It felt like so many hours had passed but he never let his hands stop or even take a rest. Until he found a piece of paper with that man's face alongside what supposed to be letters that he could not understand. He knows what reading is, his mother and father and Hassan could do it, but he never knew how to read. Living a life inside a prison camp never gave him any chance to do so. But putting that aside, he shoved the paper into his old and dirty pocket. Mongolia stood up, took a last glimpse of the quarters, and reached for his own knife, the one memento he got from the first guard he had killed.

He pushed the wooden door to be greeted by dead bodies, most of them guards. However, after a few more steps, Mongolia noticed an acquaintance from his troop, a brave prisoner who wanted to get out to be able to regain his dignity – one of the things that he never had, never knew.

But he could not stop either way, and so he just passed by the dead body, noting the way he had been killed, the way his body sprawled and his skin showing some of his bare wounds. The way his head had been pierced through with a rather bigger knife. _Bigger knife?_ Mongolia's head jerked around as he realized who owns it – the leader of the Accounts, he's the only one who could hold such knife_. But the plan never included someone as strong as the leader!_

Stray locks of Mongolia's ebony hair blocked his view of the dark night that ate the camp, but he's sure that a shadow of someone obviously bigger than him was coming near. He had nothing in mind, he just decided to grab his knife, and aim for the stranger.

"Don't hold your knife like that."

Mongolia started to get confused about this man's tone. Someone he guessed around his age, dark brown orbs calm and subtle among all the chaos. "Who are you?"

"Leader of the Accounts. It's nice meeting you."

_Leader. _ "Why don't you kill me now?"

"Why would I?"

Mongolia looked at the body of the prisoner lying just a few meters behind him. "You killed him." He answered.

"Only because he attacked me."

Mongolia's head turn to the officer in front of him. "You're the leader of these beasts?"

"Yes, they call me the leader of the Accounts but I'm not aware of what they were doing. Until recently, one of them filed a case about a planned escape. Of course I took actions. And then…" he gestured around them. "I think this is enough for pay-backs?"

Mongolia couldn't think of any answer, instead, he just started running towards him, but he was easily dodged and in a matter of seconds, he was on his knees. "I do not kill innocents. If you want to go, go, but I'm not promising to let the others come with you."

"Then what are the Accounts going to do? Continue to kill the others?"

"No." was the Account's firm reply. "Can't you see the pandemonium you have caused? I'll let the prisoners kill the Accounts." And then he paused, let go of Mongolia as he walked slowly away from him. "And I'll let the Accounts kill the prisoners. It would be nice if some of you will get away, but in a matter of hours, this prison camp will be blown to pieces."

1:18 PM

December 23, 2012


	2. Entombed Farewell

*A/N Turkey's name is an epic fail in the previous chapter so don't confuse yourself with what's going to happen next… And so, the story so far will just change regarding the name of Turkey (which is supposed to be Sadik Adnan but Mongolia called him Hassan) and that will also give you the preview of what Turkey had lost…[insert devil laugh here]

If you want to know more then you just have to have a tight grip to this tie-in. As for the story of Mongolia, here is the follow up. Enjoy.

* * *

**PULSE**

**Second Interlace: Entombed Farewell**

_In a few hours, he said…_

The firm stand of the Leader of the Accounts didn't left Mongolia's mind. Not when that Account eyed him with the calmest eyes, nor when he tried to bury the way he made him bend his knees but didn't even had the urge to hurt him. In a sense, Mongolia thought, that pair of eyes was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen.

His feet forced him out of the barricade that isolates him and the prison camp from the rest of the world, remembering that it is not the first time he'll be out since the moment he was born. Somehow, he had managed to get out of there – still alive. One thing he had intended to do so until he'll be capable of killing a prince.

"Mongolia!"

The familiar tone he heard from the inside of the barricade made him turn. "Hassan?" he greeted the Turk. "You should be out there now; the Accounts will destroy this place."

He watch as the Turk rested his elbows on the wooden barricade, and then presented him a warm smile. "You go ahead; I'll stay here for a little longer."

Mongolia didn't return any smile, even a faint one; he just stood there looking at the Turk. And then he suddenly realized, even if it's too late, and also at a time like this, "You never told me your real name."

"Sadik." The other replied leisurely. "It's Sadik Adnan." His smile stretched. "Look for me outside, okay?"

_Stupid. I don't intend to do such a thing._ Still, Mongolia wondered about why he asked them to call him Hassan, but he decided to just let the silence take over. "What about you, what's your real name?"

Mongolia's eyes shot down to his feet. _That's what I've been asking myself for the longest time._ "I- I don't remember."

This made the Turk shut his mouth, to the point that only Mongolia could ever hear are the frantic screams inside. "I once had someone dear to me…" the Turk started, choosing to leave the subject alone. "And I made it until now because of that someone." Sadik glance at the bright moon and then back at Mongolia, who listened to him heedfully. "He's name's Hassan, and he's outside." And then he gave the Mongol a smirk. "Waiting for me."

Now, as Mongolia followed his comrade with his austere eyes, he didn't notice himself smiling a little. At least this fellow has something to hold on to, that's real different from what he has. That thought made him travel back to the real world. "Then I'm going." And even if he hate the reality of leaving something behind, Mongolia said it as coldly as he always does. Maybe he doesn't want anything to tie him up again in this place.

But he waited until the Turk gave him a little nod. "We'll meet again."

Mongolia took some steps closer to Sadik, and then pated his shoulder, "Of course." He then turned his back to him and to the prison camp as well. There's no turning back. He started his journey, and further he went.

When the Turk had finally lost sight of Mongolia, he reached for a letter inside his pocket and smiled to himself. "Yes, he's waiting for me…" and he gazed up at the moon yet again that lights all the war and bedlam going inside the camp. "I hope."

Mongolia couldn't help but to feel guilty about the way he left everyone behind as he rustled through the forest. This same forest that had been his only refuge since his parents past away is the one adopting him tonight. But he never knew what waits behind each tree, never knew where he's going. Even though he had no clue about what the morning will bring, he had known one thing that is for sure…that the world outside the prison camp is more dangerous. It's a fact that someone like him should realize, if the world there knows nothing but pain and injustice, then this bigger world outside can only be possibly worse.

And then he stepped upon a rock that made his eyes water. This place, same as twelve years before and nothing changed. Only the shades of these trees before were darker, and now they are a bit old. Mongolia's knees started to tremble, and he collapsed on the ground. Here, this same spot he was in, right at this moment… this is where he helplessly stood as his mother was being raped, and this is where the Accounts left her body. With all of this, he flashed back to himself before – weak and helpless and plainly in pain. He clutch for the shirt of his father that he had worn then too, even if it's ripped and old. Mongolia cried… he cried until there's nothing left, if only he could do something then…

_If only_ he was able to protect them…

It was not long after Mongolia felt the ground shaking, and after, a bright light from the prison camp started, he heard the cries of the Accounts and also some of the men he had lived with. Although he wanted to something, of course, of course it would be foolish to go back, and what is he expecting to find anyway? He'll just see nothing but dead bodies – whole or by part it doesn't really matter. After he had cried a lot, and after time felt like an eternity when he traveled back to when he was a child, he took one last look at the place, and started to walk again.

Away from that rock, away from those painful memories, away from what he once called home, away from that prison camp. Although he had the best of his life there, when he remembers them now, he could not think of the events that accompanies the good ones. He didn't even get to exhort some farewell, why would he in any way?

The ardent ray of the sun smiled at Mongolia as he shifted himself. Last night, unexpectedly, he had reached his limit while he's just walking briskly in the woods. He expected it, that his body wouldn't be able to hold on until the morning because of all the things that happened. And then right there, in the middle of no where, he decided to sleep and take a rest. Now, for the first time, he could feel the sun waking him up. It's the first time that he had seen this sun as blinding as it is. Back at the prison camp, where the huge trees hugs the camp and blocks the sky, Mongolia couldn't even imagine how big the sun is. Also this blue sky or these white clouds, the prison camp never let him see the beauty of all of this. Mongolia's lips forged into a smile, for the briefest moment, he had felt that he's free. But the next thing that he knew, the thread that connects him and that prince who had killed her mother, will never be cut until he kills the prince with his own hands, and until then, he will never be really free.

He had continued walking without following any directions, just forward, endlessly forward he went. He just casually stops over whenever he's hungry or thirsty. Then, he'll just look for something that he thinks is good enough to eat. It's a blessing really, to be wandering in a virgin forest with all the food and the clean water. It's hard to think that within this once lay a prison camp. Noticing that he is going nowhere, Mongolia decided to follow the tracks of the rumbling path of water. He doesn't really know what to call it since his knowledge is limited to what he could see in that prison camp. And there's nothing like this there. At least if he does follow the water, he'll never be thirsty.

"Help!"

Mongolia's head jerked upon the call. Help, it's what they call 'goodbye' in the prison camp; it's the last word a prisoner utters when he's about to die. And using it now is really unexpected and so he decided to ignore it nonetheless. For sure it's one of the Accounts who had managed to survive, hoping for some rescue from the government or something. With that said, he continued walking, but then the loud roar from the same direction made him panic. That roar is the same as the ones that the Accounts brought along with them every month. Roar from the dogs. And he had seen a pack of wild dogs when he killed the last Account he had laid his hands upon, the same Account he had robbed off the knife he gave Sadik.

Another roar, and that roar startled him now. Now he agnized that it's not like one of the roars from those dogs, because it actually made his hairs shot up.

His feet started to move towards that direction. When he decided that he was close enough, he hid himself behind what he thought of were little trees…except that it had no trunks but fragile branches.

He slowly peeked and saw another form of a beast…fur darker than the night, eyes yearning for flesh, sharp fangs ready to kill and those… those claws…Mongolia felt something that he thought he'll never feel again – fear.

But he still managed to think of something, to run and get away… not until he remembered that someone screamed from this direction awhile ago.

He shook the thought away, thinking that that scream was probably from someone the monster had already eaten before he came.

Well, life works like that anyway…

"Help!"

He stopped. Mongolia never expected himself to return, no, if it's an Account, but someone's here, and it's also the world outside that prison camp, he could never bring himself to neglect anyone innocent. He could not bare the thought of him feeling guilty again. At least helping this someone might help him ease the pain. He peered from the same position he was awhile ago, carefully taking out his knife. _What ever happens, I will not die just because of this…_

He then saw the one who shouted the phrenetic calls, below all the noises made by the beast, he ascertain a young man that he had never seen before, someone with ebony hair almost the same as him, but only shorter, shinier and darker. Mongolia felt his temples throbbing against his forehead. This is not one of the Accounts or the prisoners as him. He's right, this is someone innocent and absolutely from the world he's about to know.

He slowly made his way outside, facing the back of the bear, he saw the other man's face turn into a confused one for a second, and he just ignored him and his onyx stare. He positioned his knife, and unexpectedly, the beast turned, and Mongolia found himself face to face with it.

He trembled, but still recognized the fact that his little knife could make a small cut, but it could never kill such huge creature. And so he aim for the eyes – at least that could weaken this rival more than a simple cut can.

He run, thrust his knife and received a cut – he's not really sure if it's from the beast's claw or teeth, he just kept on thrusting.

He let go, and saw the beast busy with his damaged eye, and Mongolia took the wrist of the stranger and dragged him away.

"Thank you." After what seems like a lifetime of running, Mongolia was back to where he was before, beside the path of water.

Mongolia didn't answer. "I really thought that I'll be killed back there."

This time, he felt as if he was obliged to answer, however, he just responded with a nod.

That made the stranger smile. "I'm Kiku, Kiku Honda."

This time, Mongolia looked at the said man, noticed again his dark hair, his onyx eyes, and his unbelievably pale skin. "What's your name?" Kiku asked, still smiling.

_I can't remember._ "Mongolia."

"That's a strange name."

And he just nodded.

Night came, Kiku told Mongolia that he need to thank him properly, and so Mongolia found himself in what Kiku called his quarters. But it's nothing close to the quarters back in the prison camp. This one's warm, tidy, and he don't belong here.

"I need to apologize to your family for troubling you." Kiku said as he poured some kind of drink to a cup.

"I – I have none."

The other stopped. "I'm sorry?"

"Family, I have none."

"Oh." Mongolia saw the sudden change of the expression of the man. "I'm, I'm sorry."

Mongolia felt as if he needs to answer something to that, but he can't remove his thoughts from what Kiku is pouring to the cup in front of him. It's hard to trust people. "What's that?"

"Tea." Kiku answered. "Uh, I guess this is not well-known here in the Mongolian deep?"

"Mongolian deep?"

Kiku pushed the cup a little towards Mongolia. "Here, have a taste. It will help you relax."

Mongolia doesn't really know how to explain it, but his hand reached for the cup and he took a sip. The strange feeling of warmth overflowed his senses, and even if it's his first time to taste it, he must admit that it's one of the things he liked about freedom.

"If you don't mind, the day had been hard for the both of us. Please let my assistant attend to you." Kiku gestured his hand to the man standing steadily in a corner since they've entered, and Mongolia followed him.

Mongolia was asked to take a bath. Even if he's not sure about the way this people do it, he knows what bathing means. He entered a room of white, and he dipped himself in what seems like a little path of water, except that it's unusually warm. This encounter might be good. And if it's not, he'll make something out of it.

"Please prepare his clothes. I'm betting that he's someone from the prison camp."

"But, young master, wouldn't he be a hindrance to the agency?"

Kiku shrugged. "Not if he'll be someone of use." And then he turned to look at his butler. "The Accounts sent a case a week before, yes? I've studied them well and this man is the head of the escape. We should at least thank him for the disappearance of such place."

The man bowed slightly before leaving the room.

Kiku turned to the files set before him. "After all, the Emperor wanted nothing out of the prison camp."

December 25, 2012

1:26 pm


	3. Monkey Business

**PULSE**

**Third Interlace: Monkey Business**

"How's the bath? Mister Mongolia?"

Said man looked at the direction of the voice, and his hand unconsciously went to smooth his sleeves. "Warm. Had to say it was warm."

"Isn't that how's it supposed to be?" Kiku was standing behind him, hands occupied with folders, but Mongolia turned his back and looked at his reflection to what he may know as a mirror. The white clothes he was in and his braided hair were all new to him that he never would have guessed that it was indeed, him, that's looking at himself. "I know you know I'm from the prison camp." He turned, looked at Kiku, and stared at him. "It's no secret. And I don't care."

He heard silence taking over, and then Kiku let out a soft chuckle. "I'm sorry for the disrespect. I just, uh… yes. I don't care about it either."

Mongolia's brow raised, his arms crossed over his chest. "That was a surprise."

"Oh, is it?" Mongolia heard a sense of sarcasm. "I thought it was no secret?" He was right. Plain sarcasm, Mongolia noted. "Listen though." Kiku picked up, lounge forward slightly. "I know you don't have a place to stay, to start with. So can you please, stay here in my care?"

"And what? Hold me captive?" Mongolia could not stop his tongue from being bitter and against the idea of staying still. But the intention and tone of the invitation was too vague for him to deduce.

"No." Was the other's modest reply, smile creeping ever so lightly at the corner of his lips. "I don't have any reason to do so."

"Well you did say, _please_." The black-eyed man scratched the tender skin connecting his shoulder and neck, and gave a little jolt at the pain he felt when he unintentionally removed a dry skin that his nails plucked at the fresh wound. "But what assurance do I have?" the pain lifted shortly when another sharp discomfort was felt as his legs attempted to move forward.

Kiku gave him a sweet smile reaching from ear to ear, but still so small that Mongolia couldn't call it as one. Mongolia couldn't hold himself for another second and slumped gracefully on the bed. Kiku nodded and then bowed in curtsy, understanding the other's fatigue. "Why would I hold you captive?" Mongolia let out an exasperated sigh at the answer. "You spared me my life, remember?" Kiku added.

Mongolia's eyes closed shut as his head turned upward, stretching his nape and hoping for some comfort. "I don't remember sparing your life." He said lowly.

The Mongol felt the other stirred slowly, aiming to walk towards the doorframe, but his heels turned, as he was halfway. "Well, at least you protected it."

"Here, listen too…" Dark orbs searched for Kiku's, and Kiku held the gaze as securely as he had since the first time they met. "I am a convict of the prison camp." Mongolia's statement stretched as deep as the ocean, stressed by the hoarse tone and harsh voice.

"Oh, but there isn't any prison camp anymore." Kiku found it easier to answer immediately, frightened of the possibility that his mind might turn blank at any moment. The Mongol's air of insecurity and heavy terror surrounded the Japanese for as long as he could remember. When his feet touched the very grounds of the enigmatic mountains, he knew something will come along. Something so terrifying that he will not be able to handle wholeheartedly. He prepared himself for something that dreary long ago, problem was, he never prepared that someone is that something.

"Believe me there will be again." The snap of reality woke Kiku from his dazed recollection. The view was of the same Mongol in his lonely manor and the chilly room in a lonely mountain.

"And that would not include you." Kiku bowed again, wishing that the reply bridged as a kind of solace. The loud thud he heard and the creak of the mattress assured him nothing, but the exhaustion written all over Mongolia's face. He yanked the door slowly behind him and in one swift careful grace, shut it completely.

Mongolia was left curious on the other hand, inside a wide room of red and gold. What happened today was more like it. He never expected such great leap, and to be honest, he solely believed that the stories his mother once told him might be a little true. Of pauper or thieves marrying princesses or queens; it's just that in his situation, he doesn't have any room for such sick crap. If it was good luck that brought him here, accumulated over the years as the bad luck trampled him over, then he couldn't have any other choice but be grateful. Grateful that he's on track. Grateful that he might pull it off, grander than he ever imagined. He retreated on the soft bed his back was not familiar with. When his whole body was occupying the bed, Mongolia couldn't help but feel uneasy.

Uneasy because of a lot of things, consisted mostly by the ruins the camp might have left. Yesterday night was different and the sleep goddess touched him immediately because of the tire and sick feeling he had been carrying inside the camp. But this night, day spent in a well-made manor and fresh air and feasting over delicious bizarre meals, he couldn't help but let the guilt that had lived inside him eat his soul. He tried so hard to not harbour any feelings for a crowd of notorious murderers, sick cracked people and merciless robbers. But those feelings kept him alive and fresh inside the camp, those fools raised him and fed him their share to help him grow, to help him be this man, this man hungry for revenge. That crowd whose passion for creative killings or desires for outlandish things and pleasures were washed away with ages. The crowd that taught him how to fight, how to use knife, guns if any, or bare hand combat; the crowd that accepted him as their own – the crowd that he left behind.

And while he's here, enjoying his freedom and taste of new delight of his liking – someone, someone he might know of, might be crying for help in the middle of the forest – alone, cold, as he had been in the prison camp. Someone of little importance to his life filled with sufferings that helped him feel at ease when he was alone.

With everything sulking and entering his mind – how could he possibly be at peace?

It's not like he intended to be in any anyway. But he had felt peace with that crowd…

He just has to get over with this feeling and suffer the guilt, at least he will know that when the prince or now maybe Emperor… _Emperor huh? _

That is when his tired hands wandered through the new outfit, finding no familiar pocket having the depth at the middle of his thigh. No fragile piece of paper waiting for his calloused hand to reach.

"Hey excuse me?" He called out haughtily, unable to remove solely the feel of leading. He took in quick inhales as he felt his pulse quickened. He gave himself a mental slap for the skidding he did over the stairs to reach the maid's quarters.

Almost all of the maids in the room turned to look at him, except for an old one that's busy with the table napkins. "Uh, can I get my clothes, back?" He did not waste any time, wiping away the small beads of sweat budding at his hairline.

The ladies gave each other a furred brow, silently shooting questions or pleas to answer the new guest. Mongolia saw a young lad sigh, and walked carefully towards him. "Oh you mean the ones you were – "

"Yes, those, those." He cut, not giving the brave maid a chance to finish her predictable sentence.

"I am sorry." Another maid answered from the back, raising her index finger to be noticed. "I'm afraid we trashed it this afternoon."

"What?" Mongolia half-shouted. "What, you mean, trashed?"

"We had the local rangers trash them for us." The answer was said in a whisper, and Mongolia felt his heart clench.

He clicked his tongue in a mannerism of frustration. "Thank you for your time."

He ran back to his room, looked for anything he could write on, and found some papers in the middle drawer. He wrote the letters, or signs, or whatever it was he could remember from that old poster he found on the camp's quarters, and carefully copied them on it, no need to draw the prince's face, he had it embedded on his memories for the last twelve years.

He looked at the group of lines on the paper, and felt his heart clench yet again. "Soon dear prince, wait for me. I shall come for you, and bring you my anger."

The loss of the poster was not all that made his heart clench he decided, but for the little treasure his father left. The little treasured clothes that smiled at him when he's sad and hugged him during cold nights. The set was an extension of his persona, and trashing it feels like giving a part of him away.

Mongolia repositioned himself on the uncomfortable bed, his eyes landing on the bright moon outside. The same moon he had admired when he's out of the barricade, remembering to promise himself happy days after his deed will be done. The night was dark, so, so dark as the burnt remains of those tortured inside the camp, but for some reason, it is not only the burnt flesh that crossed his mind, but those pair of crystals dark as the darkest of nights he had seen. Kiku Honda – someone who was more like a puzzle or code, than a human being; or maybe someone who's just… crazy. Crazy enough to let a refugee of the camp lie in his home, and give him the best care. Mongolia was certain he could see something was locked deep within that guy, but he could not see what really. Looking through his comrades' souls isn't that difficult since he had lived with them for years… maybe it will also take time for him to analyze this Kiku. Well, hopefully it will not take him years to do so.

Little light touched the back of his eyelids, Mongolia felt himself turning this way and that, but was too tired to open his eyes.

"Uh, so… why are you sleeping on the floor, Mister Mongolia?" The voice was dry with a knot of discomfort. Ah… that voice, sure it's not from Kiku.

Mongolia stirred on the wooden floor once again, his arms stretched as far as they could, and finally, his eyes opened. He did not move this time, he just looked at the ceiling with blatant stillness. "I was not." He said monotonously.

"Uh, yes you are?" The man that Kiku sent to attend to him yesterday was now looking at him rather scornfully and he hated that. He had been looked at like that since he was born, and he would not welcome any more of it.

Mongolia's neck hurt with the perfect horizon of the room, it is no doubt that his body's harmed because the habitual bulks and holes were gone. "I did not sleep." He continued, having the irritable plain presented on his back. "So it was not sleeping."

He felt the man standing a few steps from the doorframe heaved a little, his hand flying to smooth his collar. "Uh, then you're lying on the floor."

Mongolia settled it silly to debate over his preference of bedding, and though he can feel the enthusiasm of said man to debate with him all day, he was sorry he did not have the same plan. "Uh, guess the floor's cold." He chuckled. "I figured she needs some hug."

"Humour, sir." The butler imitated Mongolia's small laughter but failed. "Very funny."

"What's the matter?" Another voice interrupted. Mongolia heard the comforting and calm voice of his adopter; his eyes automatically gazed at the doorframe, and saw Kiku peeking inside after a second. "Well good morning, Mongolia-san." Kiku's brow waved in a fast motion as he realized Mongolia's improper position. "I'm surprised to see you out of your bed, and so early."

Mongolia yawned and stood up, the white pristine clothes he was wearing now tinted with dirt. "I do not feel like sleeping on the bed." His voice was still as hoarse as it was yesterday, and he felt more worn-out than before.

Kiku sighed. "Of course, I understand." Eyes wondering through the clothes, his forehead folding at little details he attested to be wrong. And then he looked at his butler, attentive with his presence. "I thought you had the room thoroughly cleaned?"

"I did, Honda-san."

"Oh. That wasn't evident." Kiku made his way over at Mongolia, tied the curtains up so that the sun was greeting them. "Why don't you take another bath to relax this morning, Mongolia-san? I've had breakfast prepared downstairs; you can go when you're done."

Mongolia's eyes were at the early sunrays, but managed a nod. "The bed is not comforting. It made me feel like I'm drowning."

Kiku tapped his shoulder. "I understand." He repeated.

When Mongolia was done dressing in another white top and black slacks, as the attending guy called it, he almost practically ran downstairs to meet the inviting aroma of newly baked bread, but was halted informally at the sight of Kiku holding a newspaper and sipping his cup. Mongolia's steps slowed, wary of the enigmatic presence.

"Ah, glad you could join me, Mongolia-san." He heard him say as he took the seat across Kiku. "I didn't mean to be disrespectful by bringing work on the dining table but, duty calls for it."

"I don't mind, really." His hand reached for the bread presented on his plate. "I grew up in a camp where we have no table." And he started eating.

Silence took over for a minute when Mongolia was busy studying the room and the taste of bread on his tongue. Kiku was still busy reading his work and everything was calm. The maids and butlers made their way to their respective morning routine, but they're the only ones moving in the view. "What do you do exactly?" he asked shortly after, unable to bear the deafening silence. And he was Mongolia, all right, and he still is. Being frank can never be out of his system.

"Excuse me?" he saw Kiku's eyes nailed on him and out of the papers, he tried to look into it, dark eyes meeting another pair, but as he expected – nothing. He could see nothing behind those eyes. Blank. All he could see is the dark whirlpools that so reminded him of the Account's eyes he had only seen once_. It's either this man is a natural liar, or a gifted pretender. _He made that thought settle on his gut to answer his own question.

"Who do you work for?" And yes, he may be prison camp-born but, the prisoners inside had lots of stories to tell, and he had listened intently, of course. He knows that he will need all of those information when he stepped out. "I heard people outside the camp need to work for a living. What do you do for this, living?"

Kiku folded the newspaper over and poured all his attention to the man across him. "That was quite straight-forward." The smile on this man's ever-modest face never faded and it made Mongolia cross at a way.

He responded with a shrug after a few munch of his bread, and pushed down by a tasteful thick liquid. "I'm eager to know new things."

Kiku Honda laughed shortly, and then leaned in to watch Mongolia's face. "Oh, by the way, about this living, work in other words as you said. Do you want to work for me?"

The Mongol did not answer for what seemed like an eternity, but he found himself smirking at that. "What work?" he said finally, happy to know that he's not the only frank person in the house.

"Uh, you, say…" Kiku's eyes played around the room as if he will find answers if he did. "Being my right hand?"

Silence once more. Mongolia knows what he was being offered, but of course, he's rarely bred. He did not achieve much, but he knows how to start and break hell. And he knows how to talk business too. "Forgive me. I am afraid I am not capable. See, I am imprisoned. No way to learn."

"Oh, monkey business huh." Kiku hailed a deep breath. "I know this, ah… Mister Hadji? Detained for killing the daughter of the Emperor's niece."

Huh. As goes the story, but that old man never did anything. Mongolia was sure of it. "He was a professional doctor, and a graduate of Literary Arts. It's just a shame that all of his intelligence is thrown away with him in that camp, right?" The black orbs found their way to lock again with Mongolia's "Or maybe not?"

This stranger knows way too much about him and his life in camp, and it was eerie. Doctor Hadji did teach him some theories and interesting stuffs – unfortunately, he never liked writing, and he has somewhat, short, very short patience with letters. Had to blame himself afterwards for letting the chance pass.

"Yes, he taught me some." No use lying. "But I would never learn Mafia games from a doctor."

"Oh, but you can learn from me." Kiku caught easily. "And there are not only Mafia games out there. There are a lot more."

Mongolia found himself choking at the next bite of bred he ate. "Like?"

"Royal Chess? Russian Roulette?"

Mongolia reached for some more bread and gnawed on it slowly, like nothing happened and as if he was not in the middle of having a very volatile conversation, with basically a stranger. A very crafty, gawky, damn clever stranger. He might as well trust him to manipulate him, but of course, he's Mongolia – he can't be manipulated without his knowledge.

"Is that an invitation?" Mongolia's back relaxed, on the backrest, drawing more distance from Kiku than the length of the table, he needed that distance. "To enter your world?"

"No one can enter my world." Kiku's voice faded. "It's a very dark place, very sad and lonely."

"Then you're wrong. I might as well say." The Mongol hailed a deep breath as if he's lacking oxygen. "I'm a resident of that world. _Permanent resident_."

Kiku's smile went even wider, taking the backrest himself. "Oh I get it. I know you're back for revenge. May it be for anything or anyone; I will be out of it."

"Well that was a shock." He was. Shocked. But his façade did not even budge; he was a stoic mannequin, his best defence when faced to such situation. "You just said you will be out of it, but now you're poking your nose way too close. And I tell you, that's dangerous."

"Oh well I'm scared." Kiku answered with a sarcastic tone, a tone Mongolia never thought he'll hear from the other. "I'm afraid I've thrown everything connected to what fear may be."

"Is that a threat?"

The Asian's head tilted a little. "It may be." He shrugged.

Mongolia reached for a green bottle, poured himself a red liquid and sipped down. "I want revenge yes; but could you be of use?"

"Ah, that is the question, Mongolia-san. You see," Kiku sipped his tea again, and took his precious time as Mongolia did to enjoy himself. "I was supposed to be the one who will ask you that."

"Oh you don't need to." Mongolia felt the heavy air starting to pound on his chest. "That's why you didn't."

Kiku chuckled softly at Mongolia's reply. "I like you already."

"Then let's have a deal. Drop the threat, it's not like I wouldn't want assistance."

"Are you sure of this, sir?"

"No." When Kiku finally entered his office after watching Mongolia walk to his room, he felt a heavy faculty. A little might have gone off, but another burden came along, with the thought of Mongolia turning his coat once he's on his game. "It was a gamble; of course I would not be sure." And as of the moment, he could not let that thought affect his decision. "But for my brother's safety, then betting on him is nicely done."

"But it could be you, the one who will be put to danger."

Kiku nodded at his butler. "You think I don't know that?" He paused, took his seat. "And I am always in danger anyway, that wouldn't make much of a difference."

His butler's head hung in low disapproval, but of course he could not say to his master that he does not recommend it. Kiku noticed it at the corner of his eye; the serenity and worried thud in his servant's expression made a little worry crept to him as well. "You're trembling."

"No sir," The man replied as cheerfully as he can. "I am not…sir. I'm just…" his voice faded with a lack of reasoning and Kiku felt his worries building.

He then sighed, the only thing he could do to lift his worry a little. "I know things will be tougher from now on." And more dangerous, at that. "Tomorrow morning, you can leave, freely as you wish, you can get your wage at the mistress' quarters."

The said man jerked his head towards his master. "But –"

"But please," he paid him a smile. "Be sure that Mongolia-san's bedding will be comfortable for the night."


End file.
